


Yes Ma'am

by WorldsJunk



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Hannibal (TV) RPF
Genre: Anal Play, Bondage, D/s, Dirty Talk, Dom!You, F/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Sub!Hugh Dancy, reader insertion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-15 23:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorldsJunk/pseuds/WorldsJunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You touch him because you can’t not touch him. You let his eyelashes tickle the tips of your fingers, his breath slip between them, the rasp of his afternoon stubble when he half-kisses your hand. Stroke over his pulse points, spread your hands wide against the hardness of bone and muscle down the heat of his chest, feel the boom of his heart beating, speeding. You go out of your way to finger the sweat under his armpits, scent all his. Over his nipples, lovely and pink and then clawing, drawing read streaks with your nails, down his ribcage, his tummy, over his hips and as far down as your position allows; making his entire body erupt into a wave you easily ride. Then up again with your palms, caressing over those streaks, making them burn cherry and his skin break in gooseflesh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes Ma'am

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moani](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Moani), [and the blossoming community of '/you' writers on tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=and+the+blossoming+community+of+%27%2Fyou%27+writers+on+tumblr).



> This started kinda cutesy as a present and then took over and became... this.  
> To be completely honest I feel like I should feel a lot more guilty about this than I do. Written for Moani, who feeds porn into my askbox on a daily basis.

You sigh in exasperation and push his head away from between your legs. Blue eyes snap open wide and he sits back on his haunches. He doesn’t licks his lips, even when you know he wants to. He waits for the breath of a second not knowing what’s wrong.

You strike him quick, a slap in the mouth “Did I say you could suck?” you ask and his eyes flutter with pleasure, two butterflies in erratic flight. You both hope there is a bruise later. He shakes his head. You sit up from your half-laying position on the couch and his eyes do a valiant effort not to deviate longingly between your legs as your skirt falls down, covering you up almost casually.

“What did I say? Answer.”

He swallows and you follow the movement of his Adam’s apple, up and down. You love that Adam’s apple, it’s one of the prettiest you have ever had the pleasure of kissing. He is naked. His hands are bound with his own tie behind his back. The windows are open and natural light casts dark pools of shadow around the contours of his body.

He fidgets, clears his throat and answers “You said to put my mouth on you, ma’am,” he gasps when your hand lands on his face once more, stroking his lips with your thumb. His breath speeds up, you haven’t touched him at all after he took his clothes of him and he has most likely forgotten how much he needs it. His knees are probably beyond pain, he’ll get scars from rug burn. You caress his ear, jaw and down his neck and watch his dick jump. “What else did I say,” the muscles on his thighs play the uncontrolled jiggle of exhaustion and excitement. His left pectoral joins in, then his whole arm.

“Fuck me well with that tongue, get-uh,” a breath before he continues quoting you “get me good and wet.”

You take your hand off of him and he almost follows the touch, you almost feel bad about it “That is what I said, but… you are useless aren’t you?” you say, you wonder if you are close to making him whine “All you are good at is this, right? Because you are just a little whore aren’t you? Answer.”

“Yes, I am,” so close to a whine.

“Tell me what you are.”

You watch the shivers break down his body as you feed his starvation. He craves it so strongly. It makes you want to flog him until he drools. Take him higher he’s ever been; drug him with the chemistry of his own body, taking him apart with your bare hands, limb by limb.

“A whore.”

“Put your mouth on me.”

“Yes, yes, ma’am.”

He loves doing this so much your enjoyment is almost irrelevant. He’s actually made a real good job of it. He has licked you all over. Taken special care to your labia, tasting your sweat; to the folds of your clitoris hood with the tip of his tongue, using it hard and long to fuck you with; flat to lap up, stroking as much of you as possible, spreading your juices, dragging your nose against your Venus mount breathing trough his mouth. Caressed the undefined place where thigh, buttock and labia majora meet with moist lips. Shuddered in frustration over all the places he wanted to suck. If he keeps it up for a while more he’s going to make you come.

He’s been going at it for quite a while. He’s been bound for longer and on his knees for even longer than that.

You stand up, not bothering to gesture him to stop. His eyes retain the lost quality of concentration when he looks up at you. You take off your dress and drop it on the ground beside him. You are only wearing your bra now.

“Up,” you say, pointing at the couch, not acknowledging his efforts in any other way, no further instruction of assistance given as you watch him struggle out of the position he is in. His legs probably feel like jello, useless, painful, he has no arms to help himself with.

He rests his forehead against the edge of the couch for leverage and you appreciate the jutting of his scapulas, the flex of his buttocks and long lean back muscles as he rises on wobbly legs. He is greatly taller than you. 

He sits on the couch, dark hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, blood caked on one knee where he had to drag it against the rug, cheeks flushed. A man-child, waiting in the principal’s office, straight backed and silent.

You press a hand against his collarbone and he descends, lays however it pleases you.

You straddle his legs, only the inner sides of your thighs touching the sides of his. He rests over his bound hands. Shoulders tense and back arched, jaw nearly resting against collarbone, veins and tendons on evidence. 

Saint Sebastian waiting for the Roman archers wouldn’t have looked more beautiful.

His eyes glow, but he doesn’t look up at you. You can feel the words he wants to say, the things he wants to beg for in the tip of your tongue like an itch that overpowers the longing between your legs. You shush him when he opens his mouth. 

You touch him because you can’t not touch him. You let his eyelashes tickle the tips of your fingers, his breath slip between them, the rasp of his afternoon stubble when he half-kisses your hand. Stroke over his pulse points, spread your hands wide against the hardness of bone and muscle down the heat of his chest, feel the boom of his heart beating, speeding. You go out of your way to finger the sweat under his armpits, scent all his. Over his nipples, lovely and pink and then clawing, drawing read streaks with your nails, down his ribcage, his tummy, over his hips and as far down as your position allows; making his entire body erupt into a wave you easily ride. Then up again with your palms, caressing over those streaks, making them burn cherry and his skin break in gooseflesh.

It would be so easy to the give in to voice crying for you to stop ignoring his dick. It would be so easy to have him inside you, hard and deep. To quench his thirst, satisfy your hunger, to take your pleasure from him like that, watch his face in rapture as you ride him fast and make him come inside you.

But it’d be over too fast and this is yours. Just yours.

The urge simmers down and you allow yourself a caress down his shaft, a tug at his scrotum. His mouth opens wide, all noises contained, waiting for you to let them spill. Like he has forgotten he has a voice because you haven’t told him he can make sounds.

He is way too beautiful like this not to savor.

You bow over him, your ass up in the air; plant a little kiss, a little weakness, in the middle of his chest before twisting his nipples. He grits his teeth and you do it again, pause then scratch them with your nails, you watch for a moment how his stomach muscles dance before you put your mouth on him, nips and licks up to his neck as you continue to tease him, little slaps against hard nubs. You taste his sweat against his jaw, feel his pulse against your lips, you chase the movement of his Adam’s apple with your tongue and he ripples, lets out a long exhalation that hungers to be a moan. You lift up your head and catch a sight of two deep wells of darkness and lust, rimmed blue.

You let him feel your wetness against his leg when you bite his nipple. ”Open your eyes let me hear that voice of yours,” you say and his entire being seems to burst at the reward. He’s been such a good boy, can moan, he can scream, he can cry and protest and beg. You know, suddenly, he doesn’t know where to start.

So you tell him “Tell me what you want.” You lick under his bottom lip and he exhales the breath he was holding, relieved.

“You, ma’am” he mouths against your mouth “You, I want you.”

You want to move away and torture him even after this another surrender, ask him how he wants you and how much and what he’ll do if he can’t have you, the things he’d do to have you, how far, how wide. Bring that darkness out, spreading open the gashes and salting the wounds. Making his answers a mirror in which he can see the terrifying shadows of his own appetite. But it’s scantly noon and fear is for bedtime, you will break him either way.

You kiss him instead. Slow; lips and teeth and scantly any tongue at all. His surprised moan shakes against your tongue, his body tries to put it’s hands on your waist, like it’d do any day before his mind catches up to the bounds, he squeezes his eyes shut when you pull from the kiss; his face a bouquet of emotions. Your own need is starting to make you feel a little crazy, less woman than wolf, poised over her sacrificial lamb.

You caress his sides, down to his hips. He is gorgeous, like water to the mouth of a man that got lost in the desert. You get off of him, peeling off slowly, listening to his breathing change as you walk away. 

Don’t leave me, each exhalation says. He grunts quietly when you fall out of his sight in direction to the bedroom. You open his bedside table drawer, grab the lube and a pillow, you take the opportunity to take off your bra and put it away before walking back to the living room couch. He’s spread his legs for you. His gaze is a possessive hand against your nudity, hot over your exposed skin. He lifts his pelvis up as soon as you approach with the pillow. You pat the inner side of his knee with the back of your left hand

“Eager?” you say, pressing his right leg against the back of the couch and rising his left knee further up and apart

“Yes ma’am,” he answers, barefaced. He struggles for a moment with the new position, twitching here and there, both of you making sure he’s not at risk of popping a shoulder and his arms are not in pain or relevantly uncomfortable. He gives the smallest of nods and settles down. You continue “Pity your hands are not available, you could hold this for me,” you push his knee higher. “Guess you’ll just have to be uncomfortable”.

He replies with a stressed sound of agreement before saying “I guess I’ll have to be, ma’am.”

You blink “…Are you giving me attitude now?”

His eyes shoot wide open, he blushes “No, no, ma’am I’m-”

You use your entire hand to caress between his legs, his thighs, balls and ass. You poke playfully one of the veins on his dick “Do you want to come? Because I can have you like this for another hour or two, I don’t have any pressing matters to attend today.”

His eyes roll back into his skull when you say ‘another hour‘. He shakes his head “Ohgodnoplease please ma’am please.”

You press your fingers against his asshole and he gulps. You give him a tick to protest just in case he’s having second thoughts, as well as a tick to think you are going to make him ask for it. You pop the cap of the lube and rub a nice amount of it between your palms to warm it up. You take your time; make sure his ass and your fingers are well coated with it before teasing your right hand’s index finger into him. His body resists and his breathing stutters when you caress him in circling motions, opening him up. His insides are burning. You use more lube and another finger, slowly pushing and pulling until you are knuckle deep, stroking his insides. You stop there, feeling the muscles of his right leg shake under your left hand where you are touching him.

“More?” you search his face.

“Yes,” he exhales. There isn’t a universe in which you want to fuck him more than you do now.

You lube up the fingers of your left hand while you tease him with index and middle of your right, gently making space for your left hand’s index finger. You look at him once three fingers are inside him, you wiggle them.

“More?”

“Yes!”

You position your hands so their backs are touching, palms looking to opposite directions and gently, steadily, stretch him open for a second. He opens his mouth wide and gasps.

“Oh god,” he says with a voice that makes your pulse roar in your ears and you tell him to breathe, breathe. As soon as he gulps in a breath, you do it again, spreading him wider, harder and longer. For an instant you can see his insides.

He throws his head back, hips fucking air awkwardly. Quickly, you push the two fingers from your right hand inside him stilling his hips with your left. He moans long and shuddering, your fingers curling up and deep inside him.

“Like it?”

His mouth is a flurry of agreement, his cock oozing pre-come.

“More?”

“Yes, yes, I-”

Your hand picks up speed “Want me to make it hurt?”

He can’t say it. You add your ring finger, claw your fingers into a hard curve, pushing hard against his insides, quick to pull and slow to push. Your pussy twitches in tune with the “Hng” sounds that he starts making between gritted teeth as you fuck him.

Your mouth is watering, you swallow “You know what are we gonna do tomorrow?” he shakes his head violently, your fingers pressing rhythmically against his prostate, punishing and rough again and again and again “You and I, we are going to get up early and go shopping for a strap on” you graze his balls with your thumb.

“Oh God fuck,” the words are scantly there, his mouth shapes words but only moans come out.

You grip the back of the couch, looming over him “Yeah,” his eyes focus and meet yours as soon as he hears your grin, your darkness “A nice one, and then we are gonna come back here, you are gonna put it on me,” you look down between his legs, where your fingers disappear inside him, then back up at his eyes “And then you are going to fuck yourself on my cock”

He slams his head back “Fuck,” he groans “Fuck”

You can feel him tighten around your fingers, getting closer. You stop moving your fingers and lick his stomach, breathing against his dick. You can almost taste his sanity crumbling. His mouth tells you he wants to kiss. He looks like he is going to cry.

“Like that idea, do you? Want to fuck yourself on me like the whore you are.” You don’t wait for an answer that’s not coming. “Fuck yourself on my fingers,” you say and make yourself smaller in the couch so he has space to rest the foot that will give him leverage, sit back on your toes as his brain catches up with the order. He licks his lips and does as he is told. You watch him intently, move awkwardly at first, finding the angle then moan after moan gradually cascading from pretty lips as he finds his angle, hips rotating, dark flush spreading from his face down his chest with exertion, skin gold with sweat. The lube starts drying up, slowing him down. You think the friction should feel way too intense but he doesn’t seems to care, fucking himself harder, ass squeezing your fingers tighter and tighter. His moaning turning into shuddering desperate gasping, begging please, please for you to let him come, oh god please please. Please. You spit on your free hand and his eyes open “Show me,” you say and admire him when you wrap your hand around his cock and rip his orgasm out of him, making him spurt white ribbons over his stomach and chest, face twisted by tortured ecstasy.

He keeps shuddering and whining and you keep touching him for a bit longer than his noises let you know it’s too much.

When he stills, you pull your fingers gently out of him and wipe them on his thigh, then caress up his tummy and chest, painting him lovingly with his own come, feeling his breathing and heartbeat slow down gradually under your fingers. When you get close to his neck he swallows and sighs. You sit back on your toes and wait for him, rubbing your knees together trying to find some friction. It’s his job; you are not going to do it for him. You wait, sucking on your fingers, tasting him. He licks his lips and as soon as he opens his eyes he sits up. He is still trembling

“Untie me,” he says, “Untie me.”

The second time he is saying it against your armpit and you have already loosened his tie enough for him to free himself. He curls his arms around you, kissing your collarbones, laying you down against the couch. Hands wandering all over your shaking shape. He kisses and nibbles and sucks, cupping your tits. Your hands curl on his hair.

“Go on,” you say, pushing his head down. You don’t need the foreplay. 

He spreads your legs and kisses your belly button, his fingers, eager to touch, wander between the folds of your pussy “You are so wet,” he sounds nearly as eager as you feel.

You grin, pulling the hairs at the nape of his neck “You where too.”

He makes an aroused and exasperated “Hngh” sound and proceeds to fuck you in desperate mimicries of how you fucked him. Pulling orgasm after another out of you, every pleasure you didn’t take from him, your body fuelled by the power trip, the wait, his beauty and surrender. He touches you until you don’t see anymore. Every bold caress singing adoration and gratitude, sucking and kissing and biting at his and heart contempt. And once you are done, he waits, blanketing you with his body, resting his head against your sternum.

“…You weren’t joking right?”

“Mm… the strap-on thing?”

“…Yes”

“Why?”

“…No, I mean, I-”

“I wasn’t” you hum “Also, I hope you have clean pillowcases”


End file.
